


Dance of the Sugar Plum Omega

by naivety



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alpha Sherlock, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alpha/Omega, Angst, F/M, Mary Morstan Lives, Omega Molly, Omega Verse, Post-Episode: s04e03 The Final Problem, Romance, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-02-14
Updated: 2018-07-18
Packaged: 2019-03-18 15:18:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 14,135
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13684332
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/naivety/pseuds/naivety
Summary: It wasn't news that there weren't enough omegas to bond exclusively with alphas anymore, and it inevitably led to a wave of violence and disputes. Rape cases, abductions, and incarceration of omegas were regular now, with desperate alphas, that couldn't find a proper bond, trying - and failing - to revert an already committed omega bound. Corpses of omegas were pilling up on the morgues around the country, mostly killed by trying to run away from captivity or simply result of failed un-bond processes.In the middle of all this, Molly Hooper, an unbound omega, is fighting with the consequences of Eurus' trap. Molly doesn't know, but Sherlock is also dealing with his own consequences: the feelings that were unlocked in front of that small coffin, and that he couldn't lock away again.





	1. Plié

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! I am a huge lover of Sherlolly fanfics, and this is my first try. I didn't get totally (okay, not even a single bit) satisfied with the ending Moffat gave to the last season, and decided to write an alternative myself. Hope you all like it!

It was a dangerous world for such a small omega like Molly.

 

It wasn't news that there weren't enough omegas to bond exclusively with alphas anymore, and it inevitably led to a wave of violence and disputes. If it was already part of the alpha nature to be overprotective about their omegas, it eventually became something extremely necessary. Rape cases, abductions, and incarceration of omegas were regular now, with desperate alphas that couldn't find a proper bond trying - and failing - to revert an already committed omega bound. Corpses of omegas were pilling up on the morgues around the country, mostly killed by trying to run away from captivity or simply result of failed unbond processes.

 

And even if Molly tried for a long time to ignore the social situation that was going on right outside her morgue walls, eventually it caught up with her. Because now, it was her drawers that were full of dead omegas and inconclusive exams. Her nerves that were on the edge, her anxiety that had sky-rocked. Molly wouldn't admit it yet, but there were days she wouldn't even leave the morgue, scared of the route to her house. The beige sofa in her office was now converted to a full nest, the cushions on the back of it removed to provide more space, the soft pillows around the empty space.

 

The hospital knew about her being an omega. A unbond omega. So not even a single co-worker said a thing when entering her office or seeing her after hours around the morgue. But it felt weird for Molly: even if it was her profession and she loved helping solving cases, she felt strange hiding between the dead.

 

But the truth was that she couldn't do differently. She didn't feel safe enough. Molly was brave, but she wasn't idiot enough to pretend she could face an alpha alone. A hungry alpha alone. So she kept doing this for months, swallowing suppressants and scent inhibitors, locking herself in a prison of her own design.

 

Life continued nevertheless. Regular crimes, the great consultant Sherlock Holmes, and dr. John Watson, running behind criminals; Donovan grumpy about a comment made; Lestrade shaking his fists over a paperwork mistake. The Fall couldn't be avoided, and all the consequences of the revival. A yellow-ish wedding and Thatchers being smashed to pieces. And three little words. The little words that couldn't be taken back. That had the power to destroy and torn people.

 

Molly had tried to move on. She had found a proper beta, with nice manners and a stable work. However, it was everything but exciting. Because at the end of the day, he represented that she hadn't actually moved forward. He was just a copy what she had always wished for, but never actually had. And it was weird to keep taking suppressants and keeping avoiding being fully the omega she was with him. He couldn't fully give her what she needed, what her nature craved.

 

It didn't need to be said the relationship didn't fulfill her at _all_.

 

And that was why, in the middle of the winter, close enough to Christmas, Molly was sitting on the sofa by her office, wearing the pajamas she had left for those situations. A baby blue blanket was around her shoulders, as she read a new medical journal on her phone. It had been one of those days filled with omega cases, that made her stomach curl and her eyes flick by the windows of her morgue anxiously.

 

However, as soon as she began to grow comfortable under her covers and her body began to slip by the sofa to a more relaxed state, there was a knock on the door. Molly quickly rose her head, hugging the blanket around her frame. Her breath grew tense as she sniffed the air, but there wasn't anything to indicate who was behind the doors. ' _Damn those air filters_ ' she thought, closing her eyes and trying to pretend the knock had happened. Perhaps if she stayed really quiet the person on the other side would give up and go away.

 

She looked at her watch. It was already almost 11 p.m., and there was no reason for anyone to be knocking after her. Molly tried to relax and tell herself alphas weren't allowed around her morgue anymore - a hospital policy for omega employees after the omega cases grew unstoppable. Well, her morgue had an exception, but it was someone that would never hurt her. Physically, obviously. Sherlock was welcome anywhere around the hospital and it's omegas, even being unbounded because he mostly didn't behave like a regular alpha. No inclination to attack at the sight of sudden heats (and there were situations to prove, on those same grounds with Molly coworkers), no mixed scent at any point that could indicate he had an intimate relationship with someone.

 

As Molly grew lost in the thoughts about Sherlock, there was another knock at the door. She picked the baseball bat she hid behind the sofa, holding it above her head as she walked to the door. Her small fingers closed around the doorknob just as another knock inundated the room. But when she finally opened it, there was just John Watson, looking kind of surprised at her baseball bat.

 

"Should I make clear my intentions are very proper?" He tried, licking his lips as his eyes flicked from the bat to her eyes. Molly sighed, looking at him and nodding that he could enter her office. She locked the door behind them and left the bat on the floor right next to it, passing her hands over her eyes. She was tired of being so aware all the time.

 

"I am sorry, John. I am just.... you know. But why are you here so late?" She completed, fixing her eyes on him before she moved to sit back again on the sofa. She indicated he could sit by her side, but as the gentleman he was, he declined with his head, keeping straight with his military position as he looked down at her. His eyes took a while, to scan her from the dark circles under her eyes to her hands firmly holding the blanket around her shoulder. He took a deep breath, visibly trying to decide how it would be better to begin that conversation.

 

"Molly, I am sure you are hurt. By what happened last month. And you have every reason to feel this way." He tried, knowing he couldn't invalidate her feelings. They had been all played, but she was the one that lost the most. "And I know he already passed by to apologize. And that you didn't say a word to him. He is really upset, Molly." He continued, his hands founding his hair and his fingers brushing it like he always did when he was anxious. "I am not here to defend him. To take sides. I just want to tell you what I saw that day."

 

Molly kept staring at John the whole time, just until he mentioned how Sherlock was supposed to be upset. His apology wasn't proof of it, since he had just popped by the morgue three days after the event, and whispered 'I am sorry' without even looking in her eyes. She didn't answer, John was right. But because she had hoped for more than just that. She had hoped he would explain himself further, that he would deny what he had said. Because obviously, it was a lie, just to save her from whatever explosives Eurus had said existed. Molly just wanted closure: to hear he had done what he always did, he had found a way out.

 

But the great Sherlock Holmes just apologized. And kept staring at the floor. He wasn't even the one that called her after the incident was all resolved, it was Mycroft, telling her about the call, and how Sherlock was coerced to make her say those words. And that was why she didn't answer him. Because she didn't have an answer to a simple 'I am sorry.'

 

"Just listen to me, Molly. There was a coffin. A small coffin, with a plaque. It said... It said 'I love you' and Eurus... I thought it was Irene." Ouch, soft spot. At the sound of Irene's name, Molly closed her eyes, her expression of a person that had been just hurt. "Sherlock knew almost instantly it was you. He deducted everything, Molly. Well, he was lead to deduct there were explosives at your apartment. And those words... were the only thing that could save you. As your friend..."

 

"I am not his friend." She suddenly said, her lips pursed as she turned her head to the window. The snow was falling softly against the glass, and she would have loved the sight if it weren't for this conversation. "Molly..." John tried again, hating to use the argument he would use next. He had promised himself - hell, Mary had made him promise - that he wouldn't get in the middle of it. "... he didn't need to say it twice." He tried, looking down at the brunette woman. "He didn't need to assure you of his words. He didn't even need to say those words, to begin with, if it wasn't you asking. And I know you will tell me you were in danger, and that Sherlock would save anyone in the same position. Yes, you are right. But he wouldn't go that far."

 

Molly didn't take her eyes out of the window, but moved slightly, her arms wrapping around her knees as she hugged her legs. John wasn't silly, it meant his words had an effect, and she was trying to avoid taking it in. He had just one last card to play, and he hoped it would be the right one. "He smashed it. With his bare fists. The coffin, I mean. I have never seen so out of himself. I wasn't the one to tell you this, but he cried, Molly." Sherlock would hate him if he knew he was telling such a thing to Molly. But John was growing impatient.

 

Since the Eurus event, even if Sherlock was now visiting her and trying to pull the pieces together, he had become annoying. More peeved, arrogant and indifferent that John had ever seen him before. If only he knew years before that shooting walls would be the least he could do when bored. Now experiments were everywhere in his apartment, not only the kitchen. His wallpaper was almost completely removed, and weird maps of London and pictures of drug lords were glued everywhere. The place was never neat, or clean, but it became slowly so gross he stopped taking Rosie there. He would call and ask Sherlock to meet him at Mrs. Hudson for tea.

 

The truth was that deep down, he feared that Sherlock would go back to drugs. That without a roommate present, the new information about his childhood, the lies that flicked for so long around his Mind Palace... he feared it would be enough to drag him down again. At least if he could resolve this with Molly for him, just perhaps, Sherlock could see that what had happened didn't mean that his life needed to crystallize that way.

 

But he would never say it to her. Because it was unfair to put such pressure on someone, even more, someone like Molly, an omega. "You couldn't see what I saw, Molly. And I am telling you, Eurus just forced him to say what he was already feeling. Please, trust me. I would never have guessed, really, but suddenly it was so clear I blamed myself for being so idiotic." Molly moved again on the sofa, finally her eyes fixing on John's face. And he finally noticed the tears. And how hurt she was, and how humiliated she felt. How she really, really thought he had lied.

 

"Just meet him for a tea." He whispered, stepping closer to her and taking her hand. "I just ask for this, Molly. You know you also need to solve this too." To which Molly held his hand and nodded, cleaning her eyes with the back of her hands and sniffing quietly. "Just tea. And I am going back home." John smiled at her, giving a small pat on her knees and picking the phone from his pocket. "Mycroft is saying he will send a car tomorrow at tea time, so you won't need to walk alone. A trustful beta driver."

 

Molly took a deep breath. Damn it, they had planned _everything._


	2. Tendu

The driver was distant and educated at the same time: he was already waiting outside the car once Molly stepped outside St. Bart's. He opened the door for her, in a natural way that could only come from someone experienced in that work. He didn't say a single thing for her, but by his scent, she could indeed confirm it was a beta. Mycroft had texted her that morning, a simple text explaining the car would pick her up at 4:30 p.m. Molly continued her work, but her eyes from time to time flicked to her phone, just a few meters away from her exam table. No one else talked to her. Not even Mary.

 

Molly didn't have the courage to call Mary after John had passed by. She just kept wrapped in her blue blanket, looking out the window and thinking if she had taken the right decision. If agreeing with John was the best choice. Part of her wanted to flee: leave Sherlock, and his friends, and all this trouble behind. And even if she told herself she couldn't do it simply because it was too dangerous for an unbound omega away from people she knew, it was an obvious lie. It hurt to be feeling like she had been toyed around by Sherlock, but it would hurt a lot worse if she never saw him anymore.

 

She felt stupid as she entered the shining black car. Molly was very intelligent. Not the best pathologist of the world, but a good one. Obviously that, from the moment she met Sherlock, she knew he would never look twice at her. He had fame, a good financial situation, influence through his brother. And he was handsome, it was undeniable. Sherlock seemed like too much for anyone, actually. But even more for Molly, because what would she have to offer that would entertain and keep Sherlock interested?

 

Her hands found the edge of her jumper, fidgeting with it while she continued to think. The driver closed the division between the front and the passenger's space as if it would give her privacy. But it just made her feel lonely and anxious. The main thought floating around her mind was ' _Why am I doing it?_ ' because it was irrational to keep digging a subject that only inflicted her pain. There wasn't a possibility to behave as if it hadn't happened since Molly couldn't forget it. But why couldn't they all agree it was enough?

 

It took ten minutes to arrive the tea place they had decided to meet. Or that people had decided about. It had a plaque outside inviting costumers to tea time, and a few muffins and biscuits displayed in the glass showcase. The driver once again opened the door of the car for her, offering his hand to help her get off it. Molly accepted, brushing the pink jumper with her hands and looking down at her simple shoes. She didn't give too much attention to her clothing, because being sincere, she wasn't considering they would take that long. Sherlock would apologize and leave again or would say something that would make her mad and she would be the one to leave.

 

Molly stared at the showcase, taking deep breaths as she finally held the doorknob and entered the place. Warm, it was the first sensation she felt. Her panic was making her breath so hard it was making an uncomfortable noise. The scarf was very tight around her bruiseless neck. But it didn't matter how much she was trying to hide the fact she didn't have a bond mark: it was clear by her scent. Because as soon as her small figure entered the tea place, a few clients turned their heads to her. She could smell Sherlock's scent, but there were too many people. Too many alphas. She turned her head around, and the driver was still waiting outside, his back turned to the door, and looking around the street. So... he was supposed to be her driver and bodyguard for the day? Molly looked again at tables, every face she didn't recognize making her even more anxious. Until her eyes scanned someone that had risen from their chair.

 

_Sherlock._

 

In any other day, she would have tried to look less thankful for his presence. But no one knew how many omega bodies were filling her drawers at the morgue. No one had any idea how anxious, insecure and afraid she had become. How many night terrors about being raped, or tortured or worse. She walked fast to where Sherlock was standing, looking at her with a rose eyebrow. She took a deep breath as she finally was standing close to him, which was an unfortunate choice.

 

Her nostrils took in every aspect of him. The lovingly way he scented, that could make her dream wide awake. Tabaco, mint, wood. Her body instantly relaxed, as she closed her eyes. It was sublime. But then, at the end of the usual notes of his scent, there was something different. And weird. Molly opened her eyes quickly, looking at Sherlock as she quirked her head. It would be easily unnoticed by anyone that didn't know Sherlock too well, but she knew his scent. She knew his scent like it was _home_. And she had never felt this characteristic notes before.

 

"Why are you hating yourself?" She couldn't avoid herself from bustling out, looking into his eyes. His eyebrow softened, his hands showing her the seat on the other side of the table. Molly took her seat, looking down at her hands on her lap. Sherlock sat in front of her, his eyes not leaving her face. He took his time to finally speak. "I was almost texting Mycroft saying you weren't coming. Which could be expected from how scared you feel to be outside."

 

Molly wanted to yell at him. He was never uncomfortable to fill someone with questions, but almost never answered some himself. She didn't take her eyes off her lap and parted her full lips. "I didn't have a choice. I promised John, and I take my word very seriously." Sherlock moved on his sit, crossing his arms in front of his chest. She had noticed he didn't have the trouble of taking his coat off, which meant he didn't think it would take too long.

 

"John says I should apologize again. That you are still mad at me. I don't understand why." He finally said, his curls falling against his face. Molly rose her eyes and looked at Sherlock with sadness, shaking her head. "Because it wasn't sincere. You just apologized. Blank. I just wanted an explanation. I just wanted you to come and tell me that you lied to keep me safe. That you are sorry for exposing me. For feeding me hope all these years!" The woman gulped hard, casting her eyes down to her lap again. "For saying that I stupidly counted, when in fact I don't. You just need me to help you with the cases, Sherlock. But that... you can have that with anyone else..."

 

"Stop the nonsense." He finally interrupted her, his lips pursed, making it very clear how much he didn't like the course of that conversation. "I didn't lie to you, Molly." He completed, but his eyes weren't cast on her own, and instead, he observed the same door she had just used to enter the tea place. "Perhaps I was unfair. Many times, I accept that. Probably, I didn't deserve your friendship on many occasions. But don't come over here asking me to apologize for a lie, when I told you the truth. You do count. A lot."

 

It was scary how he could look completely mismatched with the subject they were discussing: his face was now serene, his eyes fixed on the door, his crossed arms slowly relaxing over his legs. As if that was a casual tea over biscuits between two old friends. Something that Molly didn't think they were anymore. "Sherlock... please. This is unfair, and you know it. That day I-I told you everything. I was more honest than I could ever be with you. All I am asking... Please stop giving me hopes when we both know you don't see me that way. Just take it back."

 

Molly's eyes were wet already, and she looked down at her hands, fidgeting her sweater in anxiety. She hated it. She hated being open about her shame once again, but if it was what it took to stop herself from being humiliated again, she would take it every day. "Just take it back. Please, take it back." She repeated, biting her lips as an enormous tear felt slowly by her cheek, leaving a trail on it.

 

Sherlock finally moved his head to Molly, his expression barely affected by her tears, on the outside at least. Because inside, he wanted to comfort her. Her scent was everywhere, the scent of sadness and crying, it all just made him nauseated. And knowing he was the cause of it just made him even more angry at himself. He would always destroy things precious to him: he hurt John with his fall; Mary was shot to protect him; Mycroft was always trying to clean all the messes he did, and Molly... she was always there. In the middle of the crossfire. Just because she was too in love with him to tell him ' _no_ '. And he used her. Abused her goodwill and her delicacy.

 

But he couldn't take those words back. It was still weird why, and he couldn't explain it completely, not even to himself, but the thought that he would tell her he lied about his feelings just made him angry. Made him want to prove his point. He knew that telling her he didn't lie would be the most egoistic thing he had ever done. Because it would always make her wonder at which point she could have tried harder.

 

"I can't take it back, Molly. I am sorry." He said, raising from the chair and leaning against her. He softly kissed her forehead, his hand cupping her left cheek lovingly. Sherlock took more time than needed to this small gesture of affection, but when he was done, he leaned back and took a deep breath. "I apologize for everything. For making you feel this way. But I can't take those words back." He repeated, turning his back to walk to the door.

 

The small shop's door closed behind his back, leaving him with a strange sense of emptiness. That was when he turned his head and he saw it. Another client had moved and was offering his personal handkerchief to Molly, that accepted it and swallowed hard. Sherlock observed the scene with a disgusted face but didn't move to enter the store again until the man took the seat that he was just using a few seconds ago.

 

Something changed inside of him. His nostrils inflated as he looked at Molly from the store's showcase, her small hands holding the handkerchief of a stranger. Just after he had confirmed he had been honest about loving her. In a twisted and still not very clear sense, but still! The man smiled at her, and it was as if an alarm had disparate inside of him. Molly. _His_ pathologist. How would anyone dare?

 

He didn't give much attention to when he bumped Mycroft's driver on the exit of the store, still waiting for Molly. That would be the only excuse for him not recognizing him. Sherlock stormed into the store, passing between tables and not even caring if he would bump into someone or destroy a cup of tea or two in the process. Molly quickly noticed the change of the scent in the air, turning her head to the door and observing Sherlock approach her again. Her eyes became wide as she turned them back to the man in front of her. "Thank you for the handkerchief..." She said with a small smile, not understanding why Sherlock looked about to punch someone.

 

"Who is this?" Sherlock said rapidly, looking at the man as if he was disgusting. His jaw was rigid, his hands turned into fists. It was pretty clear now to Sherlock that the man in front of Molly was another alpha, and to be preying into Molly probably a desperate unbound one. Sherlock wanted to laugh, _what a mediocre man_. So desperate he didn't even take his time to see if Sherlock had actually left. The man opened his mouth, raising from the seat and presenting his hand to greet Sherlock. "Klaus. Nice to meet you. I was just borrowing a handkerchief to this lovely omega and assuring her she shouldn't be crying about any alpha."

 

Molly would never know from where it came the punch. But before she could understand, blinking terrified on her chair, the man was on the floor, holding his chin and giving Sherlock a sassy smile, while the detective was hovering above him. "She is _mine_! _My_ pathologist. Do you hear me? I am and I will keep being the _only_ alpha she _has_." To which the man rose his eyebrows and laughed. "Your _unbound_ pathologist? Sounds a lot like having a _whore_."

 

At the sound of the word Molly rose and placed her hands on Sherlock's arms. "No, please, Sherlock. Let's just go. Please." She repeated, knowing that if he had exploded about a handkerchief he would do way worse about the slut-shaming. Sherlock looked incredibly out of himself, and Molly was surprised how it looked just like the time she had to exam him after having drugs. "Please." She repeated against his neck, her hands on his arms.

 

Sherlock turned around to look at Molly and her worried eyes. He held his hand for her to take it, shaking his head. "You are coming with me. Now." He said, in a low tone, the last part almost as if he was asking 'please'. Molly took a few seconds to accept his hand, her eyes glued to his own. She thought he would let go of her hand once they began to walk to the door, but he kept holding it. The other clients were completely shocked, and a manager ran to aid the other alpha, that was already standing. The last thing that Molly could hear was him telling the manager that it was good they were gone because differently from Sherlock, he didn't take orders from omegas.

 

Sherlock guided her to the car, looking at the driver with a serious expression. "You can talk to my brother obviously. But I am taking her to Baker Street." He whispered, opening the door of the car and finally letting Molly's hand go. She moved to the other end of the car, looking outside of the window as she pressed her hands together. Her palms were inevitably hot, and her lips dry. She hoped it wasn't too obvious by the scent that had affected her very much.

 

When finally Sherlock sat by her side, and the driver assumed his position behind the wheel, the car moved to Baker Street.


	3. Jeté

The journey to Baker Street was quickly, but also silent. Molly didn't have much to do besides look out the window, waiting and hoping Sherlock would finally say something after giving directions to the driver. But he didn't. He just continued there, on the other end of the back seat, typing fast on his phone. His expression was something between angry and serious, and she was very used to seeing it while he was trying to solve a hard case, but not while dealing with her. It didn't need to be said she was very confused about all his reactions.

 

But soon enough they got to their destiny. Sherlock opened the door and kept holding it until Molly finally left the vehicle, looking at the windows of 221B Baker Street. The sandwich place under it seemed strangely silent, even if crowded with people, the sky gave a clear hint it was about to rain, and everything seemed calm. Sherlock slammed the car door and moved to open the main door to his place, and Molly moved inside just when Mrs. Hudson was herself opening the door of her own apartment.

 

"What a nice surprise dear!" The older woman exclaimed, waving her arms in the air before hugging Molly without asking. Molly hugged her back, giving her a small shy smile and agreeing with her head. "Always good to meet you, Mrs. Hudson." Sherlock, on the other hand, kept quiet on his place, his back leaning against the door. "Sherlock, don't be rude." Mrs. Hudson whispered between pursed lips, walking until getting closer to him. That was when she noticed, something weird enough to make her step back and look Sherlock right into his eyes.

 

"You... don't look right, dear." She said, a small hint of fear in her tone of voice. Obviously, Sherlock would never hurt her, but it was clear now to her old olfactory senses, fortunately by the small distance, that he had a weird scent of possessiveness. She just had sensed it once before, just after Sherlock came back with John, still taking deep breaths after almost being boomed in a public pool. It wasn't weird she took so long to recognize it and understand his poor manners.

 

Mrs. Hudson herself was a very clear omega. A nice calm old lady that enjoyed tea and a good game of cards way too much. But even she knew that it wasn't a good idea to mess with an alpha that had such a scent. But she would never leave Molly with him that way: God knew what it could cause to an unbound omega, even more, Molly that everybody knew how attached to Sherlock she was. So she waved her small hand's goodbye to both of them and left by the main door, just after Sherlock allowed her to pass. However, knowing that as soon as she got to the corner, she would make a call to John.

 

"Come." He simply continued, going through the stairs with a strange calm and opening the door, that didn't even look locked in the first place. When it was her turn to get inside the apartment, Molly finally understood why John had been such a whinny about the place. It was... awful. That was the only word she could use to actually describe it.

 

The living room was full of old journals and big crystal vases, containing animal parts that she couldn't recognize and formalin. The two seats near the fireplace were stacked with dusty books, and a knife was spiked just under the mirror on the wall. The wallpaper was almost completely gone, and old pictures of gangsters and members of the mafia (some weren't even English!) were glued everywhere, linked by a red wool thread. Molly slowly directed herself to the kitchen, seeing a weird collection of rotten take-out food, from different places all over the city.

 

Sherlock didn't seem affected by any of it, hanging his coat carefully behind the main door and looking for her in the kitchen. "What are you doing there?" He wondered, looking at her from the living room. Molly turned around from the dinner table, staring into his eyes and not comprehending why his house was in such a state. Her mind began to wander, considering all the evidence she had been presented until now. His unrecognizable behavior on the coffee place, his apartment, his weird mixture of scents...

 

"Sherlock, are you using it again?" She asked, in the lowest of the tones, her eyes beginning to water as she observed his face. He indeed looked thinner, his hair messier. If he answered yes, it wasn't for a long time, certainly. So she hoped if he indeed was back on drugs, that it was recent enough for him to recover the more painless as possible. Molly cleaned her eyes with the leave of her jumper, waiting for his answer, that took a long time to leave his lips. "Why are you asking this?" He stated seriously, his mouth twitching into a scowl he never used with her. He placed his hands on the table, leaning ahead to look her closely. "If this is about what just happened in that _place_ , Molly..." She suddenly felt a little bit suffocated and hot, as if the jumper and that huddle place were too much for her to handle.

 

"No. Stop being stupid, Sherlock! You know why I am asking this!" Her breathing was shallow and her eyes couldn't stop watering. She felt ridiculous. Great, he wouldn't let her move on more easily by taking back his words, and now he was behaving like a schoolboy. A _bloody_ stupid schoolboy! "This place is a mess! Can't you see it? That is why Mary doesn't allow Rosie to come anymore. That is why John keeps meeting with us at public places. So I am going to ask you one more time, William Sherlock Scott Holmes, are you using it again?"

 

Molly didn't know how, but in someway, she had circled the table and was facing him, her own mad face to match his, her index finger against his chest. She couldn't take it anymore. Not once again. Not after slapping him for doing so the last time. Not after feeling heartbroken for knowing he disliked himself at that point. Deep inside, blaming herself a little bit for not noticing before, or for not being enough to stop him.

 

The rain had begun, a thunder shaking the windows of Baker Street. But as Molly looked at Sherlock, his scowl had softened a bit and he just looked surprised now. "No, I didn't. Now, get out." He simply stated, placing his hands behind his back, and looking down at her finger on his chest. Molly shook her head, as she stared at his hair since he refused to look at her eyes now. "No! I am not leaving. You dragged me out of the coffee place and now you are sending me out during a storm?"

 

He kept looking at her hand against his chest and took a deep breath. "Molly, you are this close..." It was his time to raise his fingers, showing her a very tiny space between his index and his thumb. "... to get into an expontaneous heat." He stated, finally raising his head and looking at her. In the few seconds he had kept his head down, his expression had assumed a look more hungry and lascivious. The feelings of rage were still there, she could clearly see, but now he also had a combo that she had never seen before.

 

Molly felt her lips dry as she finally assessed herself. Her own emotions, always so rampant and profound around him had masked the clear signs. Her rising temperature, the shallow breathing, this necessity she kept having about touching. The necessity to touch _him_. She suddenly felt lightheaded, shaking her head as she repeated to herself there was her medication. Too much medication to keep that kind of possibility at bay. "I-I... That's not... Sherlock..."

 

" _Run_." He whispered, his tone relaxed and calm, but his eyes having a fury she didn't recognize. A primal instinct hit, that made her turn around and obey. She ran. She got out of the kitchen, circling a pile of books that were laying just by what used to be John's seat. Her mind didn't even consider the front door, her eyes noticed for a split second the lightning that hit a tree outside, but she was soon running for what looked like her life. The door for what used to be John's room was closed, and she would never in such a state lock herself into Sherlock's room, so she continued. Climbing the stairs in her frantic state, trying to get to one of the rooms on the second floor.

 

That was when she felt him. Suddenly behind her, quickly grabbing her by her waist. They fell, close to the last step of the stair, his weight on top of her as she continued to try and set herself free. Molly made a scared sound, trying to get away from his grasp, but he was strongly keeping her under his body, a strange laugh ringing in her ears. "You didn't even _try_ the front door, Molly."

 

She froze in her place, looking over her shoulder to his face, a wicked smile dancing on his features. "You didn't even _try_ to escape through the _front door_." He repeated, his breathing dangerously hitting the place just behind her ear, making her close her eyes, her breathing extremely difficult, but she could never point if it was because of the run or because of her sudden heat. "The only possible deduction, then, is that you _never_ really wanted to escape." He completed against her ear, one of his hands still maintaining her under his body, while his other lingered to her jeans.

 

Molly would never say it, but the heat wasn't stopping her from feeling conflicted. She wanted him. Now, on that staircase if possible. She wanted him inside of her, it was all she could think of doing to him at that point. But a small voice on her head kept repeating: ' _For what? He will not even look at your face when the heat is over. He doesn't love you remember? He wasn't even your friend enough to take it back_ '. A few tears began to stream down her face as she felt him pulling down her pants, away with her underwear, and the feeling of the hardwood of the stairs against her bare skin.

 

It was when Sherlock finally noticed her sobs. He turned her to face him, looking at her watery eyes and how the sobs moved her chest in a weird way. "I am not using, Molly. I promise you." He repeated softly, lowering his head to kiss her neck and cheeks. She took a deep breath and shook her own head. "I-I-I knows, it just hurts. My skin is... It hurts." It wasn't properly a lie. It indeed hurt. She felt weirdly vulnerable and empty and feverish. But also, heartbroken.

 

He got up and got her in his arms, making her squeak in surprise. Her hands instinctively circled his neck, holding herself close as he took her to his room, her jeans long forgotten on the bottom of the stairs. Sherlock didn't even move to turn on the lights, the room lighted by the occasional lightning outside. He just placed her on his bed, looking down at her body and taking deep breaths. "I have been patient enough. This is your last chance to stop me." He said between his pursed lips, taking his shirt off and beginning to unbutton his pants. Molly shook her head, looking up to his bare chest and his hungry stares at her own body.

 

He kicked his shoes and pants off, before motioning to take off her shoes as well, leaving her only on her pink jumpers. He crawled then back to the top of her body, looking breathless at her eyes. "Finally." His mouth expressed, but in no way, it was enough to make clear what was going on inside his head. The ache caused by her scent, the hard member twitching at her sight, and how easy it felt to finally accept this choice once he could blame her heat. Once he could blame anything other than his own conflicting emotions.

 

_All those complicated little emotions_.

 

Sherlock's hands pulled the jumper up, exposing her beautiful nipples, that he caressed slowly. She was moaning before he even started it, which made him smile. Her back was arching, and if it wasn't by how her heat was impulsing him to just get over with it, he would have enjoyed to torture her longer. His hand lowered, tracing a way by her belly until it reached her core. She looked at him with wide eyes as he proved to himself she was wet. It was almost a compliment for him to feel that moist texture of her lips against his fingers, to feel the desire and the expectations she had.

 

That was when he felt the sudden urge to taste her.

 

Before she could notice, with her closed eyes, what was exactly going on, she was already feeling his hot tongue against her most delicate folds. Molly moaned, her hands holding the sheets strongly as she felt his mouth pleasing her. He didn't hold back, lapping her with such an intimacy she doubted she would dare to look into his eyes once this was over.

 

It was incredible. Almost sacred, if he had the guts to consider anything so. However, it wasn't enough anymore and he rose again to distribute kisses over her breasts and neck. And during all that time, she kept offering her neck for him. For as much as he tried to make clear to himself that she was offering it for his kisses, a primal part of him wanted to claim her. Fully. A primal part of him wasn't fulfilled by having her taste, her body; it wanted _more_.

 

It wanted something Sherlock never thought he would want from anyone.

 

Sherlock observed as she closed her eyes, feeling him guiding his cock to the entrance of her pussy. Her sweet moist pussy. He rubbed himself against her folds, looking into her as he said in a firm tone. "Look at me." She opened her eyes, staring back at him as he slowly began to force himself inside of her. Her wide eyes kept staring at his own, a mist of surprise and delight shining through it. And he knew he was bloody damned because he could never blame her heat.

 

That was his last thought before he leaned forward and captured her lips for the first time. It felt idiotic to give it such an importance once they were already having sex, but for him it did. He kissed her in a manner anyone would consider passionately, but that for him it only felt loving. Her arms wrapped around his neck, pulling him closer as she finally began to kiss him back, her tongue touching his own shyly inside their mouths.

 

She could feel his knot clearly growing inside of her, as his movements became spaced and more difficult. But he didn't stop. He kept fucking her and hitting her in all the perfect places for her to moan in pleasure. It almost felt like they were made to each other, their bodies molded to fit each other properly, but never somebody else. That was what Sherlock considered, as a recurring thought kept appearing on his mind. A consistent thought in his Mind Palace. He tried to ignore it, but it was impossible.

 

As they kissed, Sherlock supported his weight on his elbows, around her head, in a protective manner that made Molly feel both safe and aroused. She moaned against his lips, feeling so close, so damn close when he suddenly stopped kissing her but kept moving inside of her. His eyes were closed as he continued until he finally opened them and looked at Molly. "I meant what I said. I love you, Molly. And I am _so_ sorry." He whispered, before leaning against her neck and bounding them together.


	4. Rond de Jambe

Small drops of blood.

 

On what used to be white sheets. On the corner of his mouth. An aching sensation on her neck, and on her heart. Their scent. His scent. There was something weird about it, but she couldn't exactly pinpoint what. She felt lightheaded and confused, and it felt like she couldn't understand the situation, even if it felt crystal clear. The orgasm. It was probably the most intense orgasm she ever had, her body had shaken and her nails had scratched his back, and now he probably had some marks. She should apologize. Once she understood what was going on, sure.

 

But he didn't allow her to think too much about it. Their bodies were still attached, his knot still large inside of her. It didn't stop him from kissing her once again, making her lose the fragile thread of thoughts she was following. If she concentrated enough, which was very difficult at that moment, she could feel his cum inside of her. She could feel her shaking legs, the strong feeling of fulfillment and happiness that was set inside of her.

 

His elbows were still around her head, and even when he broke off the kiss, he kept his lips close to hers, his forehead against her own. His eyes, his beautiful eyes, were still closed. She was surprised when he finally said something. "Do you need anything? Are you thirsty?" He pointed out, leaning against her cheeks and taking in the scent of her skin.

 

Molly just shook her head, looking into his eyes shyly. When she finally felt him slipping off of her, she waited for his reaction. Perhaps he would regret it. Tell her to dress up. Go home. But he simply kept the same expression on his face as he kissed her temple and rose from the bed, leaving his room. Molly sat on the bed, holding the sheets against her chest as she waited. And waited.

 

It took just five minutes, but for her, it felt like an eternity. When he was finally back, he was holding a tray with a cup of tea, a glass of water and a sandwich. He sat on the bed in front of her and pointed the tray, in expectation. This was certainly something she would never expect of him, to take care of someone, but even more her. "Thank you." She whispered in surprise, taking the cup of tea in her hand while the other held the sheets against her breasts. "You didn't need to." She said, in a shy voice.

 

"I did. It was the right thing to do." Sherlock answered, but it wasn't just this. He loved the way she scented. Vanilla, violets, and acetone. But now, there was something on her scent that made him want to take care of her. A sense of need. But not like an obligation. A need for her, and also from him.

 

So he kept looking at the small movements of her hands, as she ate, drank the whole cup of tea and half of the water. He caught himself growing less anxious as she looked satiated, but also visibly sleepy. "I will take this to the kitchen, and will be back soon." He whispered as she lowered herself to lay on the bed. And in the small seconds it took for him to come back, she was already asleep.

 

When Molly woke up, the next morning, Sherlock was holding her dearly against his chest while he read a book. It didn't look too late for lunch time already, but it wasn't the beginning of the morning either. She didn't remember falling asleep, even more becoming tangled with him that way. But the feeling was nice. Her head on his chest, their legs intertwined. She finally rose her head and he lowered his eyes to her, placing the book back on the nightstand.

 

"Goodmorning." She whispered. "Did you wake up early?" She asked with a smile, caressing his chest with her fingers. "I didn't sleep at all. I don't know why." He lied, looking at the wall straight in front of the bed. He didn't feel sleepy, that was alright, but that was because he had dealt with awful feelings of anxiety during the whole night.

 

Until he came back to find her sleeping, he had been acting nearly in instinct. The food, his words, his touch. But as he looked down at the bed to her sleeping frame - so delicate, so desirable - for the first time what he had done caught up with him. Her neck was still stained with blood, the bite mark too clear for anyone not to notice. Her breathing was slow and automatic, and suddenly he felt scared too. Scared of the responsibility he had brought to himself.

 

She was his omega now. A very impetuous and bright omega, indeed, but still an omega. And as her alpha, it was his sole responsibility to care for her. To make sure her well being was fulfilled. Before that night, he could clearly deduct what she was thinking or feeling, because he knew Molly Hooper for years now and also because she was so transparent. But now he could smell those feelings _everywhere_ : he could clearly feel her satiated, comfortable and warm.

 

It was slightly driving him crazy.

 

But somehow, it was easier on him than it was for her.

 

There was an insistent knock on the door when she finally could notice it. Sherlock yelled something, still holding her close to his chest as they enjoyed their first morning together. But the knocking didn't stop, which eventually made Sherlock raise from the bed and walk to the door, after covering her with the white - and stained - blanket. He dressed his underwear and opened the door. John's head appeared, looking around the room until he spotted her, laying on the bed under his covers. "Sherlock..."

 

But his attention was elsewhere. Back to the strange memory, he had dug just a few seconds ago, as he observed the open laptop behind John, just in his living room.

 

_"William! Stop it!" His mother said firmly, slapping his small hands as he tried to grab a cookie that was still hot. The small boy couldn't avoid giggling as his mother smiled down at him. "They are nearly good for eating, you just need to wait a little longer, love." He took a seat at the kitchen table, moving the pirate hat on his head._

 

_"I already told you, mom! Call me Sherlock! It looks a lot more like a pirates name!" He said with a smile, suddenly lowering his tone. "I was playing today I rescued a princess!" He whispered, like a long-held secret. His mother laughed and agreed with her head. "And was she pretty? Did you treat her right?"_

 

_"Of course, mom. Until Mycroft came and ruined everything saying I will never find a princess that loves me." His mother sat down by his side, hugging him and placing a cookie on his hand. "He is wrong. You will find someone to love you, Sherlock. Even being a pirate, someone out there will love you. And then, you will need to protect her, because she will have your most precious treasure. Your heart."_

 

_His heart_. That was what he was thinking when he bit her. And that was what he was thinking as he observed the white letters against the notorious black background. But he tried to ignore it. The strong sense that it was all about the sleepy omega on his bed. John walked behind him, apologizing for disturbing, but Sherlock simply waved his hand. The words were there, but he felt like they didn't make the proper sense. He kept observing them, as John stood quietly behind him.

 

"Mrs. Hudson called me. She said you were... well, that Molly was here and you weren't on your best behavior. I took a while to finally come because I thought that... you were simply solving all that situation, and that she would leave soon... but when I arrived, I saw this! I couldn't stop myself from interrupting... wait, is that blood?" He interrupted himself, taking a close look at Sherlock, to the small stain of blood on his mouth.

 

The detective turned back to go inside his room, ignoring John's questions. Molly observed him, the expression on his face completely changed from just a few minutes before: he was back into his cold reserved tone. "I will just dress up and we will begin to solve it, John." He completed, closing the buttons of his shirt as he walked back to the living room.

 

"First, I thought it was all a joke. But we can't ignore it, Sherlock." John said, looking at his friend, that was already almost interrupting him. "I just need to take my coat and we will..." But before Sherlock could complete his words, they noticed Molly, fully dressed up already, looking at the screen of his computer. On her neck, there was the clear and bloody mark of their bond, and she looked quite pale while she observed the screen.

 

> **HE COULD NEVER FULLY NOTICE**  
>  **WHO KEPT YOUR HEART, SHERLOCK.**  
>  **AND SINCE THE GAME ISN'T OVER**  
>  **YOU WILL FINALLY HAVE YOUR REAL HEART**  
>  **BURNT.**

 

"He is dead. We saw him dead. Who... Who is this now? And why... Why are they threatening _John_?" She said, raising her eyes and looking at Sherlock. John rolled his own eyes, shaking his head and throwing a pile of books there were on his seat to the floor. Great, they were playing stupid now. Newly bonded pairs and their insecurities. Sometimes he thanked God he was a beta with a proper beta wife because this drama sometimes was too much even for him.

 

"I will text the driver to pick you up." He said, without even look into her eyes before he walked into the bedroom. Molly looked devasted as she moved her head to the floor, crossing her arms over her breasts. John always knew Sherlock was insensitive, but treating Molly like this... after all, they had been through with Eurus, and after bonding with her... it was too much even for the consulting detective.

 

"No need. Mary is having a snack downstairs, you should go meet her, Molly. Rosie misses you." John said softly, picking Sherlock's scarf that was hanging behind the door and placing it around her neck, covering the bite mark. He would have a proper talk with Sherlock when they were alone, but right now, the best thing was to do not cause a new fight between them both. Molly agreed and flew downstairs, holding the scarf against her neck with one of her hands, as if she could lose it if not held tight enough.

 

As Molly's feet touched Baker Street, Mary was already waiting for her outside, Rosie on her arms as she smiled, a bag with her snack on her shoulder, clearly interrupted. Mary smiled, looking at Molly as she continued. "John gave me a small brief. Let's go to our home and have tea. You will feel better." She whispered, waving to a cab. The ride was silent, abruptly interrupted by occasional sobs from Molly. When they finally arrived, Mary unlocked the front door and passed Rosie to Molly, thinking that perhaps the situation could be eased with a proper cup of tea.

 

But when the tea was finally ready and Mary came back to her living room, she caught Molly crying as she stroke Rosie's little feet. "Oh, Molls!" She said, leaving the tray on the nearest surface and sitting on the sofa by her side. The pathologist was trying to keep her tears from streaming down her face, but it was impossible. Occasionally, her sobs shook the upper part of her body, as she kept staring hypnotically at the child's toes.

 

"I am okay, I don't know why I am crying-" She tried to explain, but another sob shook her chest and made her hold the baby closer to her body. "Stop. I don't totally understand... but I can imagine. Let's... Let's take our heads off it while they are dealing with this new problem, shall we?" Mary whispered, taking Rosie from Molly's arms and placing her inside the playpen.

 

She took her friend's hands between her own and guided her to the bathroom, sitting her down the toilet. "I don't know why I feel so... I feel empty." She tried to clean the tears with her jumper, but her face was already too wet for it. "I feel heartbroken. It hurts, Mary..." She whispered, lowering her eyes to the bathroom floor.

 

Mary moved, opening the drawers and picking a new towel, soap and hair products. "I think after a shower you will feel better and will be able to think more clearly... what do you think?" She said with a smile, her hands falling on Molly's scarf in a small move to remove it. Molly held it strongly, shaking her head as she looked at Mary in complete despair. "No!"

 

Mary sighed. She was being more difficult than her own daughter, and the small baby was a handful. "You can have it back after the shower. Alright? I promise. But you need to clean this bite and this will also calm you down." It took a while, but finally, Molly agreed with her head, her eyes still cast downwards, her sight lost.

 

Why didn't he even _look_ at her?

 


	5. Relevés

"What the hell were you thinking?" John suddenly said, his hands on his waist as he looked at Sherlock. The detective was ignoring him, walking around the apartment looking for his wallet. This situation was stupid. At least for John. What the hell was Sherlock thinking? Why did he bond with Molly, when they couldn't even have a proper conversation about their feelings? It was irresponsible, immature and _so_ surreal. 

 

"I know very little about alpha/omega dynamics, at least the true stuff besides the textbook information. And even I know this isn't supposed to go this way..." He continued, leaning against the doorframe of Sherlock's room. "She is not tough at this, Sherlock. She is strong, but when it’s about you…"

 

"You would do me a favor if you stopped talking right now." The detective said, walking to the door and picking his coat just behind it. "Where is my scarf?" He asked John, making a confused expression. John shook his head, blaming himself partially for what was happening. He was the one that was trying to mend their relationship. At least their friendship, he had thought. Bloody hell, Mary was also someone to blame, telling him how sad she was about Molly and Sherlock’s lack of interaction.

 

"Whatever. We need to go." Sherlock continued, looking at John. "You won't come?" He said in a loud tone as if to take John from his trance. The doctor sighed and shook his head. "Sherlock, you bonded her. Molly Hooper. And you just sent her away as if it was nothing. Don't you get it? You are repeating your mistakes."

 

"I won't even have a chance to commit mistakes if this person tries to kill you, John." Sherlock said, turning around and flying downstairs in those quick steps. John facepalmed himself, making a small groan. "It _wasn't_ about me! Oh, _bloody hell_ , these stupid couples." He said, shaking his head as he finally allowed his legs to move and follow his best friend. 

 

Sherlock made a motion to a cab, getting inside by the passenger's side, making it very clear he wasn't in for a continuation of that conversation.

 

***

  
  
It was very late when Mary finally took Molly home. The blonde woman wasn't very fond of the idea, but Molly didn't want to stay. She was already feeling too bad for what had happened with Sherlock, she wasn't looking forward to seeing John's pity eyes. So when the car finally made a stop in front of her building, Molly leaned to the back, giving Rosie a small kiss on her baby cheek, and thanked Mary. 

 

She spent the whole night considering if she could allow herself to skip work the next day. In the end, it was exactly what she did. She told her boss she had caught the flu during the weekend, and couldn't go to work. He didn't seem to know about her newly bonding situation, and perhaps it was for the best. There was no way the bonding could be reversed, not with a high risk of death. But at least, for now, she didn't have to give much explanation to anyone about her scent change, or the fact she would cry every thirty minutes.

 

No food was eaten for a very long time. Everything made her sick, and also, she wasn't really in the mood of cooking, or even picking the phone to order food. She just kept there, watching terrible television and wishing things had gone differently between her and Sherlock.

 

Sherlock was out of sight for the next four days.

 

She was already growing used to the thought that their bonding, even being mutually desired at that point, was indeed a mistake. His words kept buzzing against her ear. _I am so sorry._ She understood now why he had said it. It was because, even being an alpha, he couldn't give her a simple alpha and omega relationship. He could be bond to her, but he was married to his work.

 

Molly suddenly heard a knock on the door. She rose from her bed, feeling grumpy. It was raining outside, which was making her desire, even more, to stay quiet. If it was her neighbor, once again complaining about their landlord, she would murder him. It was decided. She was in no mood to listen to anyone talk about their awful problems because, right now, she considered herself the most troubled person in the world. And there was no one that could change her mind.

 

But when she opened the door, standing on her doorframe, there was a very wet and intense Sherlock. 

 

His hair was dripping against his forehead and his eyes were locked into Molly's as soon as she opened the door. His coat was completely soaked, and he kept quiet staring at her for what seemed like an eternity. It wasn't like she could take her eyes from him either. The first thing she noticed was his scent. It had incredibly changed from the last time they were together. He was now closer to mint, violets, and wood. Like her own scent had become. As the seconds passed, it was more difficult to think straight, staring into his eyes.

 

It surprised her when he finally moved. Molly couldn't contain a small moan when his hands grabbed her by her waist, pressing her body against his own. His cold palms squeezed her waist, his nails carving into her flesh. His mouth took hers, his tongue dancing against her own without any second thoughts. It was different from their bonding. Now, it seemed way more intimate. Like it was exactly what they meant to do. What they meant to be.

 

Sherlock advanced inside her apartment, closing the door with a loud noise, using his feet. Molly's hands quickly slipped by his shoulder, making his long coat fall to the floor. His shirt was glued against his torso, but her hands were automatically searching for the buttons. They finally stopped moving, when Molly's back was pressed firmly against the wall.

 

"I missed you." She whispered against his lips, at that moment completely oblivious about the way he had treated her before, and how hurt she felt. His hands found the edge of the shirt of her pajamas, pulling it from her figure with an angry moan. "I know, I can smell it." He answered, his right hand slowly slipping by her breasts.

 

However, suddenly something snapped inside of Molly. _I can smell it_. She shook her head, pushing his chest and taking a deep breath. "No. Stop it!" She said in a loud tone, looking into his eyes again, but this time completely breathless. Sherlock looked confused, his shirt half unbuttoned, but a very clear bulge already grown on his pants.

 

"Why are you here? Don't you have a case now?" She said, trying to catch her breath as she looked into his astonishing eyes. It hurt her to stop kissing and touching him, after so many lonely days without her mate, but her rational side wouldn't allow her to go to bed with him without knowing. Was this happening just because he had grown aroused? And just then remembered he had a small omega to fuck to oblivion, so he could concentrate again on his case?

 

Sherlock sighed, passing his hands by his wet hair. His sight was now on her fireplace, as he thought about it. "Are you just here because I am an _easy_ fuck?" She said with disgust, still looking at his face. Sherlock quickly moved his eyes back to her and shook his head. "Is that what you think of me?" He said angrily. 

 

"You left me. After _bonding_ with me. You have bitten me, used me, and left me when I wasn't interesting anymore!" She yelled at him, all her emotions floating back into her body as soon as they had stopped hooking up. "Left me when you found something _better_ to do. _I hate you_ , Sherlock. I wish I've never met you." Molly finished, passing by him and not avoiding to bump against his body. Sherlock turned around, observing her looking around the living room for the shirt of her pajamas.

 

There was this small part of him that wanted to apologize. That wanted to tell her that he had felt scared. About the responsibilities. About the danger, that she was clearly in now because she was his mate. But the worst in him didn't want to give her any explanation.

 

_I may be on the side of the angels but don't think for one second that I am one of them._

 

The biggest and worst part of him wanted to spank her ass for daring to defy him. The worst part was looking forward to chocking her on his cock just for daring to yell at him. But he had allowed that part of him to win once before, and now he had a vulnerable omega hating on him.

 

So he walked to where she was leaning forward to pick her shirt. He intertwined his fingers on her hair and pulled her softly against his chest. Molly yelped, placing her hands over his own on her hair. She looked at him when her back finally touched his semi-naked chest. His voice sounded more self-contained, perhaps even more careful. "I didn't use you." He whispered against her ear, licking it slightly. "I meant what I said to you. About what I feel."

  
He could have repeated that he loved her. But it wasn't necessary to say he felt a bit insecure about her reaction. "And I don't... I don't regret bonding with you. Do you?" He asked, his hand slowly letting go of her hair, to caress the spot where his bite was now dry and almost healed.

  
Molly had gone back to her breathless state, her eyes closed as she listened to him quietly. It was stupid how much power he had over her. She was never someone that someone would consider brave. At least she thought so. However, at that moment she wanted to be. She wanted to repeat to him about how much she loved him, almost since they first met. She wanted to tell him about how hurt she felt, how betrayed. And, at the same time, if he never looked at her again, how she would treasure their only moment of intimacy together.

 

But there was not even a single drop of courage or rationality inside of Molly while Sherlock caressed her neck and his other hand moved to stroke her hip. So she provided him with the only answer that was possible at that moment to her. “No, I don’t. I’ve always wanted that.”

 

It was exactly what it took. Sherlock’s hands quickly moved back to hold her hair, more forcefully at this point, turning her to be kissed by him. Her soft and adorable lips. Crashing against his own, his other hand holding her with all his might. Molly’s hands found the buttons of his shirt once again, finishing to unbutton the end of it, before removing it completely. Her hands didn’t stop, moving to the zipper of his trousers, her other hand feeling shyly his bulge.

 

Sherlock suddenly grew impatient, stopping to kiss her suddenly and pushing Molly against the sofa. Her upper body was hanging on the headboard, almost in fours. Sherlock got behind her, pulling her pajamas bottom and her underwear unceremoniously, before finishing to open his trousers. “This time I won’t ask for you to be sure.” He whispered, leaning against her ear while his hand found her pussy. Her pussy lips were moist and half open. He slipped his finger by her entrance until he found her little clit. Molly moaned under his weight, her ass moving against his fingers as if she could have more.

  
When Sherlock finally leaned behind, he had his cock on one of his hands, and slowly began to tease her with it, in the same way, he had done with his finger. “This time I will tell you to say it first.” Molly looked over her shoulder, confused by his words, feeling as if her body wasn't fully connected with her brain. “Say it first?”

 

Sherlock had a soft grim on his lips while he continued to stroke his cock against her pussy lips. “You will say it first. Like you made me do.” He licked his bottom lip, deep inside knowing how it was difficult to keep control just to experiment with the power to have her submit to him. “Say that you want me. That you love me.” He whispered in a low tone, almost ripped, while he looked directly into her eyes. “Tell me in that pretty voice of yours how much you _need_ me.”

 

Molly could only moan as a response, already too lost in her own omega state she couldn't think straight. "Sherlock-" She tried, but he shook his head, taking lighter on the strokes over her clit. She grew frustrated, her hair glued with sweat against her nape. "Please-"

 

Sherlock could only laugh, leaning against her ear again as he slowly penetrated her, just the tip of his cock inside of her tight pussy. He licked the place on her neck where his bite was healing and whispered. "Oh no, Molly my dear. Try again, but hurry up... I might get bored... and you wouldn't like it, would you?" He finished, taking the tip of his cock from inside of her and laughing at her frustrated moans. "Come on, be the good little omega I know you can be..."

 

Molly felt a shiver when he called her _good little omega_. If she could, she would ask him to call her like this every single day. How could she deny it after he called her this way? "Please, I-I-I need... I need you. I love you. I love you more than anything... and I need... I need your cock." She whispered, her face red and glowing. He waited a bit, giving her a hard time about if he was pleased or not. His answer came when he penetrated her fully, in one single motion, burying his balls against her clit. Molly brushed her face against the upper side of the sofa, looking at Sherlock from above her shoulder. "Oh, Sherlock-" She moaned, her hands gripping the sofa strongly. 

 

He began to fuck her hard, his hips slamming against her bottom forcefully. He moaned loudly, his nails carving against her hips. "Moan for me, my little omega." He yelled at her, how could she be that possibly tight and wet? How could she be his? His omega? His submissive? His possessive side always became prominent when he was fucking her. It was always obvious how he became vulnerable once he was naked by her side. 

 

"You like? Being fucked by me like this?" He said with a laugh, feeling her legs trembling with pleasure. "You like being fucked senseless like the little omega whore you are? You enjoy feeling my cock inside of your dirty cunt?" Molly moaned again, her hands moving to hold her butt open so he could fuck her more easily. "Ah, so you do?" He noticed that what she had done made him go deeper, and smiled as he felt a bit of sweat on his forehead. "My little whore. _Mine_." He said as he felt her beginning to cum, her pussy contracting against his cock, making it difficult to keep going. It just took a few seconds: but it felt like an eternity, Molly's satisfied smile as she cummed and rested her face against the sofa, her eyes closed. It was weird how aroused he was by her moaning, but also by those small moments when he knew she was safe and satiated. Before he could stop himself, he felt his cock twitching inside of her and his cum beginning to pour, going deep inside her womb. 

 

"Don't leave me again." She whispered when she felt him laying spent against her back. He took a few breaths before he nodded and kissed her temple. He took a deep breath and leaned back, taking her into his arms, bridal style. Her hands moved quickly to hold his neck, afraid to fall, and also surprised by his care. Sherlock kissed her face, taking her to her room slowly. "I promise I won't go anywhere, _not again_."

 

And she trusted him. 

 


	6. Fondu

Sherlock was holding Molly's hand lovingly, as he pulled her from the cab they had shared to go to Baker Street. Her neck was covered strategically with his scarf, the one that John had given her the morning after they bonded. Sherlock's hair was a mess, but a smile was dancing on his lips as he waved at Mrs. Hudson, that was opening the door while holding a bag from the sandwich shop. "Good morning, Mrs.-"

 

"Sherlock! Oh, God." The old lady looked quite surprised as she stared into Sherlock's eyes. She knew all about Molly and his bond, he was sure. He hadn't told her, but John couldn't stop himself from gossiping around with the old lady downstairs. Her wrinkled eyes followed their connected hands and then lowered to the bag of sandwiches she was carrying. "Sherlock... I don't think-"

 

"It's alright. We can prepare our own tea if you have guests..." He said with a laugh, noticing how self-conscious the old lady had suddenly got. But Mrs. Hudson simply shook her head, looking worried at her feet. Molly sensed that, somehow, the situation wasn't exactly what Sherlock was thinking. This was far from a simple embarrassed meeting about little sandwiches to many guests. "Sherlock, please." She tried again, raising her eyes to look at him.

 

But Sherlock's face had changed. He had finally understood, after leaving the newly bonded stupor, that something was off with his landlady. Molly could see his nostrils moving slowly as if he could scent the problem. As if he was trying to solve the problem just by smelling it. "I don't think it's a good idea for you to go upstairs. Neither of you. Molly, dear, you should take Sherlock back to your apartment. It will be for the best, trust me." She said with a proper, but fake, smile.

 

To which Sherlock answered by simply holding Molly's hand more strongly and shaking his head profusely. "Have a good afternoon, Mrs. Hudson. You don't have to shield me or Molly from Mycroft." He simply answered. Because that must be the answer, right? Who could cause such a commotion for Mrs. Hudson to grow self-conscious and worried? Who had the power to barge into Baker Street and act as if he owned the place? Molly tried to apologize and thank Mrs. Hudson for her worrying, but Sherlock was already pulling her to the stairs without a second thought. 

 

The apartment was a mess, just like Molly had last seen it. There was no effort whatsoever to organize stuff. The pile she had scattered around while running from him during her heat, was still the same way. The only change from the night they bonded was the people around the living room. The laptop with the creep message was still on, right where John had left. Mycroft was sitting on Sherlock's usual armchair, one of his hands on his chin, covering partially his mouth. He looked worried about something, slightly disturbed. John was also there, on the sofa, his feet anxiously tapping against the floor. And by the scene, it was clear they were both waiting for Sherlock to arrive. Sherlock's hand was a bit sweaty, Molly could notice. But other than this, he showed no sign of disturbance. 

 

 

She just looked forward to when someone would explain the young red-haired woman sitting right next to John.

 

The scene that welcomed them was, at least, strange. There were a lot of different scents around that she wasn't used to, making her slightly confused. John also looked confused, but a bit mad too. Probably at Sherlock. And if the situation wasn't surreal enough, and weird enough, something hit her. Something that made her let go of Sherlock's hand and stop right in front of the red-haired woman, her eyes bloodshot.

 

In her hands, the stranger had a small cup and saucer of tea. The same cup Sherlock had used to serve Molly the night they had bonded.

 

Molly knew it because that china set had been all smashed during one of Sherlock's snaps, leaving the porcelain cup to live inside the cupboard completely alone. She also knew it, because Sherlock always used this particular china to serve her tea. _Always_. Since the first time she had gone to Baker Street, that was her cup and her saucer and how that omega slut _dared_ \- "Sherlock... Molly..." John quietly stated, giving them a motion with his head. Mycroft finally moved from his position and his hands began to tap the armchair. "We were waiting for you." He simply began, his eyes glued to Sherlock's. Molly abruptly took the cup from the woman's hands, taking it to the kitchen with her, the scowl on her face making clear limits had been crossed.

  

The woman gave Molly a surprised yelp, her pretty lips forming a small "O". "What the fuck is going on here?" Sherlock suddenly burst, his instinct gaining all the control over his body. This looked exactly like one of Mycroft interventions and he wasn't enjoying seeing Molly distressed about another omega on his apartment. He had his rational side way in control to know that another omega usually was no threat to a bonded couple, but he also knew how this could bring up some jealousy feelings.

 

For John, it was pretty clear Molly was in that state where she could easily murder someone just by seeing it around her mate. He knew the girl on the sofa was trouble. And he also knew Molly could see her as a threat. But there was not much to do anymore. He had no power over Mycroft, and deep down, his small disputes with Sherlock weren't his problem. He just hated how he and Molly were always caught between crossed fire.

 

"Miss Marina Baestons is part of our investigation, Sherlock." Mycroft stated, without looking into his brother's eyes. "She is in danger for crossing Sebastian Moran and spilling his secrets for the government. That is why she was invited to stay here until you catch him." He finally said, looking out the window and hating all that drama. He knew his brother was stupid, but assuming an omega, and even more, a close friend like Molly, was indeed pretty much the most stupid thing he had done recently. "You all should thank Miss Marina. She was very valuable to this investigation."

 

Molly was standing on the doorframe of the kitchen, looking at Mycroft with her scowl still apparent. Her arms were crossed over her chest as she observed the whole situation with anger. She should have followed Mrs. Hudson advice and left. The red-haired woman giggled like a teenager after Mycroft's introduction, offering her hand to shake Sherlock's. "It's a pleasure to finally meet you, Mr. Holmes. And also, obviously, Mrs. Holmes-" She completed, only to be interrupted by Mycroft, that was still looking out the window. "They are _not_ married."

 

Marina seemed to smile at it, still offering her hand to Sherlock. He took what looked like an eternity to take it, shaking it quickly before putting his hand back inside his coat's pocket. "Indeed. Perhaps this will make this investigation go smoothly." He tried, raising his eyes to look at Molly. Her nose had twitched and now she looked disgusted by everything happening just in front of her. "Molls..." He offered, pointing the red-haired woman with his head as if asking Molly to be polite. The pathologist mumbled something between her teeth that reminded a _nice to meet you_.

 

"Molly, come on..." John said, picking Molly by her elbow and pulling her in the direction of Sherlock's room. As soon as the door was closed, he sighed deeply, staring into Molly's eyes and observing she had sat on his bed, looking something between depressed and angry. "He wouldn't dare to do something, you know. I can see that's what you thought. A bond is a bond, Molly. It can't be reversed like this. And Mycroft is just an asshole." But the little pathologist just shook her head, a few tears of frustration beginning to fall against her cheeks. "I am just tired of no one taking me seriously. Not even bonded with Sherlock... not even being... oh, God now the excuse is that _we are not married_." Her hands were now on her face, hiding her eyes from John's view. But he didn't mind her outburst: in fact, he blamed Mycroft. A Holmes was always the right one to blame, either one of them.

 

"Look, Molly..." He tried, but there wasn't much to say. "I can tell Miss Baestons that she can stay with me and Mary..." He began, just to be interrupted by Molly. "No. I won't put Rosie at risk. And also, it's okay. I won't allow it to break me. I am not the same Molly you met years ago, and if this omega slut-" She began again, closing her eyes as she finished with a weird angry noise. "Thanks for offering, though." She whispered, kissing his cheek before she left through the door, back to the living room.

 

In the living room, Marina was reading the newspaper while Sherlock kept leaning against the main door, in the same place she had left him. Mycroft was long gone. "... I love that you scent like mint..." The woman giggled, looking above her newspaper to Sherlock. His hands were still in his pocket, his sight shifting from his bedroom door to Molly's face as soon as she surfaced from it. "We are going." She stated simply, looking into his eyes. He nodded back at her, moving to stand in front of her shorter frame. His hands finally left his coat's pocket to take her own. "Anything you want." 

 

Before they left, Molly went back to the kitchen and fetched the now washed china and looked at the woman on the sofa with a pretentious smile. _No alpha and no fancy porcelain for you._ "Miss Marina, I will make sure to get you the best protection possible. You don't need to worry. Baker Street is still the safest place for you, and we will come back... soon enough. We take our promises seriously." He smiled a bit, looking down at Molly. "In the meantime, I don't think John will mind staying around while we... try to understand things." Molly nodded at him, kissing his cheek lovingly before they left.

 

Marina's mouth was gaping a little in surprise. "I thought... He scented a lot like a strong alpha. Why was she bossing him around-" She began to John, looking at the closed main door. John interrupted her, shaking his head with a smile.

 

"Well, Miss Baestons, as my wife likes to say, deep down, in an alpha-omega relationship, the one actually calling the shots will always be the _omega_."


End file.
